


A Study in Leather

by Redamber79



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Alternating, Pranks and Practical Jokes, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redamber79/pseuds/Redamber79
Summary: Cas has been human for a few months, but he definitely needs to lighten up! Dean decides to pull a harmless prank and steal Cas' clothes while he's in the shower, which backfires spectacularly when Cas shows up wearing his own leather jacket and a towel.Oh, no. He's hot!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 191





	A Study in Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nainblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nainblood/gifts).



> Thanks Banshee for the beta, as always! <3
> 
> And thank you to Nainblood for the prompt!

Dean ducked out of the motel bathroom with an armful of fabric, made of a dress shirt, slacks, and a hilariously baggy pair of boxers, biting back a low laugh of sheer mischief. Cas needed to lighten up, and a good old prank was the perfect way to do it. Sammy was out interviewing the victims' families with Eileen, while Dean and Cas had pulled an all-nighter robbing a grave for ingredients for Rowena.

And wasn't that entertaining, watching the Queen of Hell and a hunter back from the dead face off over his moose of a little brother.

But Cas — Cas was tense and on edge from having his grace drained a few months ago, and he hated that he was reduced to human again. He complained about needing food. He especially hated having to urinate — his words. Cas definitely needed to loosen up. So while the depowered angel was having a shower, Dean had snuck in and stolen his clothes.

He hid them under the second bed and draped himself over his own, kicking his feet as he channel-surfed and waited for the inevitable explosion of temper.

What he did  _ not _ expect was to have the bathroom door slam open, and a nearly naked former angel of the Lord come stalking out holding a scrap of a towel in front of sinfully sharp hip bones and wearing Dean’s leather jacket.

_ Oh, _ his mind supplied helpfully,  _ I forgot that in there. _ His body wasn’t any help either, because he forgot how to breathe as all the blood in his body rushed from his brain southward. He stared up at the vengeful blue gaze pinning him to the spot and waited for his doom. 

“Where. Are. My. Clothes.” Cas enunciated each word as its own sentence, and Dean fought a shiver. Never let it be said he backed down from a challenge though, and he smirked up at the enraged fallen angel.

“They musta run off in embarrassment, being so baggy and lame. The tent-sized boxers were a nice touch, by the way.”

Alright, apparently Dean’s reaction to being flustered by a near-naked Cas was to mouth off, which could end really poorly. 

Cas’ nostrils flared, and a flush of anger climbed his cheeks, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. Dean swallowed nervously, but with the angel now human, he thought he could take him in a fist-fight if it came to that. Which was when he realized he really didn’t want to fight. He was too tired even for a tussle. Sighing heavily, he gave in.

“They’re under the bed,” he said, pointing reluctantly, and Cas nodded and muttered something that sounded like  _ bad as Gabriel  _ as he turned away, giving Dean a clear view of an absolutely sinful ass at the apex of the most incredible thighs he’d ever seen.

Ripping his gaze away with an embarrassed cough, Dean stared at the TV, trying to ignore the rush of heat on his own cheeks. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Cas bent at the waist and dug his clothes out from under the other motel bed, growling in disgust at the smears of dust now coating them. Mesmerized by the view of Cas bent over, Dean failed to turn away and just like that, he was caught. Cas turned back and met his gaze with a confused tilt of his head, the bags under his eyes more pronounced with fatigue.

“Dean,” he rasped huskily. “Are you getting sick? You’re flushed.”

Dean groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Nope, just the steam from the shower!” he lied, for the shower had barely survived one shower at full temperature, much less a second. “I’m just gonna--” he rolled off the bed and stumbled for the door. “Be back in a few.”

He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, staring down at his traitorous dick, which was pressing against his fly painfully.

“I am  _ so _ screwed.”

* * *

Castiel stared at his clothes, coated in dust from being shoved under the bed, and with grime and worse from the fight and then the grave-digging… Well, if Dean could pull a prank, Castiel could appropriate some of his clothes. Grabbing Dean’s duffel and tossing it on the bed, Castiel rummaged through it and pulled out a pair of grey sweats and an AC/DC t-shirt. He knew Dean normally slept in them, but Dean had his own clothes to wear and could deal with it. Castiel wasn’t getting back into dirty clothes to sleep. Even after months as a human, he wasn’t used to the routine of packing a bag for a day’s hunt in case they had to stay longer, too used to being able to ‘mojo’ his clothes clean, as Dean put it.

Pulling on the sweats, Castiel towel-dried his hair and stripped off Dean’s jacket, noting the scent of leather and Dean’s aftershave. It stirred something in his gut, and he closed his eyes, bringing the jacket to his nose and inhaling deeply. Leather, aftershave, sweat…  _ Dean. _

His mouth practically watered at the tantalizing mix, and Castiel tossed the jacket almost roughly onto the bed before pulling on the t-shirt. He’d put on muscle in the past few months, needing the bulk to aid in their hunts now that his grace was gone. The t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest, and he tugged on the hem, pulling it down over his hips. The sweats were no better. They were long enough — that wasn’t the problem — but they hugged his thighs in an unfamiliar way, and Castiel was all too aware that he was wearing Dean’s clothes. 

He shifted uncomfortably, rethinking his choice to borrow Dean’s clothing, when the door opened again and Dean appeared with two cups of coffee from the shop across the street. He kicked the door shut with his heel, then glanced up. His eyes fell on Castiel, and he froze, his moss-green stare travelling slowly from Castiel’s face down to his bare toes and back again. Even from across the room, Castiel heard the small sound of a whimper, and he felt a blush burning his cheeks as Dean continued to stare. 

“There was no point in putting my clothes back on after a shower, they’re filthy,” he quickly explained, and Dean nodded mutely, his eyes tracing over Castiel’s chest and arms in a way that made him feel more naked than when he’d only been covered by a small towel and the leather jacket. Finally, he couldn’t take the tension and turned away, bending to pick up the towel he’d dropped on the floor, intending to take it to the bathroom to hang it up. 

A low, barely-heard curse sounded behind him, and he peered over his shoulder as he straightened, only to find Dean’s eyes fixed firmly on his behind. A strange jolt of warmth flooded through him, and he found himself licking dry lips as he turned. Dean’s eyes followed the movement even as his feet carried him closer to Castiel, and Castiel felt his heart begin to pound oddly. Dean held out one of the coffees, and Castiel felt a vague disappointment, though what he’d hoped would happen as Dean had stalked closer, he didn’t precisely know.

“I guess that’s fair,” Dean finally replied, his deep voice gone lower, rumbling up Castiel’s spine, making him shiver. Dean’s eyes tracked the movement and licked his lips. Castiel’s eyes flickered from those plush lips to Dean’s eyes again, and he found Dean staring back at him, his weary eyes still intent. “Cold?”

Castiel shrugged. “A little,” he admitted, though he was a sight better than he’d been when he’d lived on the streets the last time he was human. Dean gave a slow, cheeky smile and waggled the coffee cup in front of him, and Castiel finally took it, feeling the heat seeping into his hands through the paper cup.

“Just like you like it, though how you can take that much sugar…” Dean shuddered in distaste and Castiel rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, the strange tension between them broken.

“I enjoy it that way. How you can drink it black is what I don’t understand.”

Dean shrugged and yawned, plopping down on the bed and kicking off his boots before sitting back against the pillows. “I don’t need any sugar, I’m sweet enough,” he teased, and this time Castiel indulged in an undignified snort as he rolled his eyes again, fighting a sympathetic yawn of his own. 

“When are Sam and Eileen coming back?” he asked, and Dean shook his head. 

“They got a tip about something fishy in the next town, might be our djinn. They’ll check it out and call if they need backup. We stay here to keep an eye on things in case it’s a false alarm.”

Castiel nodded and sipped his coffee, his eyes fluttering shut in pure pleasure as the hot, sweet coffee hit his taste buds. “Mmm… Perfect. Thank you, Dean.”

He glanced over at Dean and found him with his head bent over his own coffee, the tips of his ears suspiciously pink at the compliment.

“No problem,” he replied huskily. Clearing his throat, Dean reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “Great British Bake-Off?”

Castiel smiled fondly, knowing Dean’s love of cooking shows, and sat on the other bed, careful not to spill his coffee.

“Sounds good.”

* * *

_ Cas had no right,  _ Dean decided.  _ No right to be so… so… _ His mind stuttered on a definition as they settled in to watch TV for a bit before getting some sleep, and he shook his head in frustration as he sipped his coffee. He saw Cas stretch out on the other bed, mirroring his own pose, and he caught himself casting surreptitious glances from the corner of his eye. Dean casually drew one knee up as he planted his foot on the bed, partially obscuring his lap from the other bed. 

Cooking shows didn’t normally do it for him. Cas in his clothes, barefoot and still warm from the shower, his hair fucked six ways from Sunday from towelling it dry? Dean was weak; a bad,  _ bad _ man, and he was probably going back to Hell for perving on his best friend. It wasn’t fair though. He’d never been jealous of cotton in his life, but he found himself tracing the way it hugged the curve of Cas’ biceps, the swell of muscled chest, the thick length of his thighs with envy. Before he knew it, he was half-hard again, and the walk to and from the coffee shop might as well not have happened.

He rubbed at his tired eyes and cleared his throat roughly as he took another slurp of his coffee, hoping to relieve the dryness. Cas glanced at him, concerned, and he waved it off impatiently.

"Just a tickle in my throat, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can—"

"You can what, man?" Dean snapped, only to see Cas' face fall as the former angel bit his lip, gnawing on the pink, chapped flesh nervously. "Sorry, but it's not like you've got your mojo. Even if I was sick, which I'm not, you can't fix things anymore."

Cas stiffened and Dean swore at himself in the silence of his mind.  _ Way to make him feel like that's all you want him for. Great job, dumbass! _

He coughed nervously in the growing silence, and Cas gave him a withering look. Dean rolled his eyes and set his coffee on the bedside table, too tired to try to explain. Standing up, he walked over to the other bed and bent down.

"No fever, you can check," he offered, staring at Cas' startled, wide blue eyes from a foot away. Cas' hand came up slowly, shaking slightly, then that warm, huge hand was cupping his cheek, the thumb grazing across his cheekbone.

"No," Cas rumbled, and Dean's eyes popped open before he'd realised he'd let them fall shut. "No fever."

Dean wet his lips nervously, and Cas' eyes dropped to his mouth. He watched as Cas' pupils widened, his pink tongue darting out to copy the movement over his own lips. And still Cas' hand was against Dean's cheek, a gentle, soothing touch. 

"Most people check for fever on the forehead," he mumbled. "So you know."

"I'll try to remember that," Cas replied, his glance still flicking between Dean's eyes and his lips. Dean felt his heart begin to speed up, and his hand came up of its own volition to cup Cas'. Cas' eyes widened at his touch, and Dean closed his eyes again, the fearful hope in that blue gaze too much to bear. He leaned into Cas' hand though, and turned his head to brush his lips lightly over that smooth palm. 

* * *

Castiel felt his breath catch in his throat, his mouth gone dry with nerves, and he let his eyes roam over Dean's face, counting the freckles automatically. He felt the dry brush of Dean's lips against his hand and let out a small gasp. Dean's eyes flew open and his eyes darted to Castiel's face. He dropped Castiel's hand as though burned and stumbled back, his cheeks scarlet with a blush, the countless freckles standing out.

"Dean…" Castiel breathed.

"Shit, sorry, man, I gotta—"

"Dean." He could see the panic rising in the other man and sat forward on the bed, dropping his bare feet to the scratchy carpet. 

"Look, I'm just gonna go—"

Whatever Dean was thinking, Castiel was  _ not _ about to let him leave in a panic, and he stood, bearing down on the other man with determination. Dean watched him approach, his eyes darting from side to side as though looking for an escape, and Castiel walked him right back against his own bed. Dean's eyes widened as he sat down abruptly, and he stared up at Castiel like he'd never seen him before, awestruck and almost frightened.

The last thing Castiel wanted was for Dean to be afraid of him, and he reached out slowly to cup his cheek again. Dean watched his hand as though it might bite him, but when Castiel laid it against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut again for a moment, his lashes a soot-darkened gold against his cheeks.

"Dean," Castiel tried again, determined to have his say, his desires laid bare with no confusion. "I want to kiss you. May I?"

Dean's eyes popped open, and he stared up at Castiel. "You want—" Castiel saw his throat bob as he swallowed harshly. "Why? Wait a minute, what about Meg, and April, and… you were married to a woman, what was her name, Daphne?"

Castiel tilted his head to one side as he frowned in confusion. 

"I've told you before, I'm utterly indifferent to gender or sexual orientation. I've found certain women attractive. But I've only been in love once." Dean looked as though his eyes might pop out of his head, and Castiel rolled his eyes. "We do share a more profound bond, you and I."

Dean's mouth dropped open and he stared for a long moment. Then a pained expression crossed his features.

"Cas, there's a big difference between loving someone and being in love with them."

* * *

Dean watched as his words hit Cas like a blow, and this time the former angel staggered back.

"Of course," he rasped, his deep voice low and weary. "And you could never be in love with a man. With  _ me. _ I understand." Cas reached past him and grabbed Dean's leather jacket while Dean sat frozen, trying to absorb the words he'd just heard. He watched as Cas slung his jacket over his shoulders with a practiced move, the leather settling on him like a glove, and the former angel went looking for his shoes.

"Cas? Where're you going, man?"

"To get another room. I've made you uncomfortable, but I need sleep, and I promised I wouldn't disappear again." Dean leapt to his feet, grabbing Cas' arm, the muscle like a steel bar under his hand as Cas held himself stiffly. "Dean, please let me go."

Dean's heart nearly broke at the sound of that sad, tired plea, but he pulled Cas around to face him, those blue eyes full of resignation. Wishing he could wipe away that look, he reached a hand to cup Cas' cheek in turn, the familiar five o'clock shadow rough under his fingers.

"I can't," he murmured. "I can't let you go. I… I need you, Cas." Cas stared at him, uncomprehending, and Dean swore at himself for a coward. Dean gathered his courage and pulled Cas to him until they stood chest to chest. He curled his fingers around the nape of Cas’ neck, the curls soft on his skin, and leaned in to press his forehead to Cas’. “I can’t let you go, Cas.”

Cas’ breathing was harsh, as though he’d been running a marathon. “Why? Why can’t you just let me go?”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean breathed, his eyes closed against the hope in those eyes. “Can… Can I kiss you?”

There was a long pause, the TV still blaring in the background, until finally Dean heard a barely-there whisper.

“Yes.”

Finally. He slumped against Cas for a moment, then he leaned in slowly, tentatively bringing his mouth to Cas’. It was nothing more than a dry brush of their lips, no fanfares or fireworks going off, but still, it thrilled Dean down to his toes. He kissed Cas gently, quietly, but a slow warmth was building in his chest. Hope. Cas was frozen under his hands, and Dean pulled back to meet his angel’s eyes. Those exhausted, gorgeous blue eyes were staring at him, and he gave a small, cocky smile that he didn’t really feel.

“Not bad for starters, but this time, try kissing me back?” he suggested, and he pulled Cas unresisting into his arms.

* * *

Castiel could feel his heart pounding, adrenaline pumping through his body, though whether to fight or flee he didn’t know. The gentle touch of Dean’s lips against his had set his pulse racing, and his hands clenched into helpless fists at his sides. He still wore Dean’s leather jacket, and the familiar scent of leather and Dean’s aftershave swirled around him, making his head spin. This time when Dean leaned in to press their lips together, he let his lips shift against the hunter’s, earning him a small sound of approval.

He set his hands lightly on Dean’s hips, and when Dean tilted his head slightly, Castiel followed his gut and slotted their lips together carefully. Dean smiled then, Castiel could feel it, and he opened instinctively. That long-ago kiss with Meg flitted through his mind, his encounter with April, and he pushed them away. This was far more important, with everything he longed for on the line, and it had to be perfect. The kiss deepened and Castiel let out a low sound, a guttural groan of desperation as his hands tightened on Dean’s hips.

Their mouths moved together seamlessly, and Dean’s fingers slid under the collar of the borrowed leather jacket to slip it from Castiel’s shoulders. It hit the ground with a heavy  _ whump, _ but Dean’s hands were wrapping around Castiel’s back and he scarcely heard it. And still, they kissed. 

Dean kissed sweetly, never pushing for more, and Castiel pulled him closer, longing coursing through his veins. Dean pulled back to breathe, and peppered his lips and jaw with feather-light kisses as Castiel swayed in his arms, overcome with emotion. It was all new. He’d cared for and been attracted to Meg, been grateful for April, but this was Dean. Dean in his arms, Dean’s lips against his throat now, Dean’s hands curling in his hair. Dean’s breath hot through the t-shirt as he dropped his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder as though overwhelmed.

When Dean lifted his head again and met Castiel’s gaze, those green eyes were filled with desire, and Castiel bit back a gasp.

“You’re killin’ me here, man. Do you want this, or are you just humouring me?” Dean asked desperately, and Castiel moved without thinking. He spun him in his arms, pressing his back against the wall the way he’d done before years ago, but instead of his hand over Dean’s mouth, Castiel swallowed his sound of surprise with his own lips. Castiel kissed him passionately, putting everything he felt into the kiss, and Dean’s lips parted under his with a groan. The first touch of Dean’s tongue against his lip sent a bolt of desire through him, and Castiel in turn devoured his hunter’s mouth, his tongue thrusting and exploring, learning the flavour that spelled  _ Dean. _ He’d never get enough.

* * *

_ Holy shit. Fireworks, _ Dean thought to himself half-hysterically as his back hit the wall and he was dominated by Cas’ kiss. The former angel put everything into it and Dean melted against him, even as his mind buzzed with a blend of excitement and exhaustion. Cas worked his way from Dean’s lips to his throat, and Dean fisted his hands in Cas’ hair, pulling him close and tilting his head back. The delicious scrape of teeth and stubble over his skin set his nerves on fire, and Cas’ hands were large and hot against his spine, slipping under his flannel to caress his back through his t-shirt. Dean moaned softly at his touch, and then Cas’ lips were pressing against his again, all-consuming in his passion.

“Cas, Cas…” Dean breathed against his lips, and Cas murmured a questioning sound. Dean nuzzled his way along his throat, and kissed his way up the strong jaw to his ear. “C’mon, sweetheart. We need to sleep.”

Cas started to pull back, his expression stricken, and Dean pulled him close again.

“Dean?”

“Come to bed with me, to sleep.” 

Cas’ beautiful blue eyes widened, and he licked his kiss-swollen lips nervously. “You want me to—” 

Dean interrupted him, pulling him close for another deep kiss before pulling back with a breathless laugh. 

“I want you to do a lot of things, sweetheart. But they all need more energy than we’ve got right now. So for now, we sleep.” Dean pushed him unresisting to the bed, and Cas went, sitting on the edge with wide, trusting eyes. Cas watched him hungrily as he stripped off his jeans, and Dean smiled shyly as he stood in his boxer-briefs. “Just sleep, but I’m not sleeping in my jeans. And since you’ve borrowed my sweats…” 

“I didn’t think to pack clothes for myself…”

“Yeah, well, who knew Rowena would have us digging up a grave and dismembering a body…” Dean snorted. He pulled his flannel off, leaving his t-shirt in place, and crawled onto the bed. Laying down, he opened his arms invitingly. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then dove into his arms, kissing him breathless for a long moment until Dean soothed him gently with his hands, stroking down his back softly. Cas settled into his embrace and Dean pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling as though his chest might burst with happiness. Cas reached down and pulled the blanket over them, tangling their legs together. As Cas' bare feet slid over Dean's calf, he yelped, giving him a dirty look.

"Your feet are freezing!" he accused. Cas simply hummed his agreement and cuddled closer. Who knew a former angel of the Lord would be such a snuggle-bug?

"You're warm," Cas commented, his eyes already heavy with fatigue, his deep voice slurring the words. 

Dean smiled softly and held his angel as he fell asleep.

* * *

Castiel woke to Dean's deep voice murmuring into his phone.

"—asleep. Yeah, Sammy, I get it... Alright. Say hi to Eileen, see you in a few days." There was a pause and then Dean huffed a laugh. "Bitch." Dean turned back to Castiel as he dropped his phone on the bedside table and grinned, fine lines crinkling around his eyes. Castiel's heart swelled with love, and he smiled happily in return. Dean's eyes widened a little, and his smile softened as he reached over and brushed a finger over Castiel's cheek. "You should smile like that more often, sweetheart."

Castiel leaned into his touch, propping himself up on one elbow. He ran a hand through his hair and quirked an eyebrow at Dean as his smile widened again. 

"Something funny?" he asked, and Dean's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"There's no saving your hair, Cas, it looks like you've been thoroughly fucked." Dean seemed to realise what he'd said and his cheeks went red, much to Castiel's amusement. Castiel had never understood the shame so many humans seemed to feel around the topic, and he tilted his head to one side. 

"What does my hair have to do with sex?" he asked seriously, watching with glee as Dean's blush deepened even as the hunter smirked. 

"C'mon, Cas," Dean teased, his tongue peeking out from behind his teeth. "You do it right, all sorts of things end up messy."

Castiel sat up, pulling Dean closer with one large hand behind his neck. Just before their lips touched, he stopped and pulled back enough to look into Dean's moss-green eyes, dark with arousal.

"Show me," he ordered and Dean fell against him with a moan. Castiel felt a surge of power at having the strong hunter trembling against him as they kissed urgently. Dean bore him down on the bed, slotting his knee between Castiel's thighs. He held himself carefully above Castiel, and Castiel let his hands roam down Dean's spine, resting at the beautiful curve above his ass, smiling as Dean arched into his touch. Castiel let his hands slide lower, cupping his cheeks and rocking against him, and Dean let out a sinful moan.

"Fuck, Cas, I wanna show you everything, but, uh… no sex 'til we're home at the bunker and can really take our time." 

"You mean no penetration," Castiel surmised, and Dean huffed a laugh against his throat. 

"Yeah, sweetheart." There was the soft sound of Dean swallowing, and his voice grew quieter. "It can really hurt with no prep… ‘Course, in Hell everything hurts." 

Castiel tensed, knowing his love, his charge, was speaking from experience. “Alastair…” he growled, and Dean shook his head.

“No, sweetheart. No thinking about him. He’s long dead, and he can’t hurt me anymore.”

“Dean, I wish…” Castiel broke off, knowing there was nothing he could say, and Dean gave him a shrug. 

“Bastard’s dead, I’m not. He can rot.”

Knowing what that trip to Hell had cost Dean, Castiel pulled him close for a slow, chaste kiss, full of gentleness and love, and Dean melted against him.

“Cas,” Dean whispered as they broke apart, and he nuzzled his way along Castiel’s jaw to his ear, nibbling at the lobe and sucking on a spot just below it that sent a bolt of pleasure through his body. Castiel gave a surprised moan and Dean chuckled roughly. “Like that, do you, sweetheart?”

“Mmm.” Castiel tilted his head back and let Dean’s mouth worship his throat, and then Dean was pulling back to kneel over him. 

“Up, baby,” he coaxed, and Castiel sat up, letting Dean pull the borrowed t-shirt over his head as he continued to speak. “Too many clothes. Wanna see all that beautiful skin again. You fuckin’ near killed me, man, coming out of the shower wearing my jacket and that towel. Nearly jumped you right then.”

Castiel gave a low, husky laugh, thinking of the way Dean’s eyes had widened. “Why didn’t you?”

“I thought I’d get a punch to the face for it? Besides, you were pissed about your clothes," Dean replied, and Castiel rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Dean…” he scolded, his fingers working under the edge of Dean’s plain black t-shirt and teasing his fingertips over his skin. “Are you sure you want this?” 

Dean bent and kissed him again, and again, his hands tracing down Castiel’s chest and toying with his nipples, making him gasp with surprise as twin bolts of pleasure fired down from the taut nubs to his groin, making him twitch in the borrowed sweats. Dean’s eyes darkened as he stared down at him, and he shifted deliberately on Castiel’s lap, grinding his ass in small circles. Castiel let out a guttural groan, and Dean slid down his body, peppering his chest and stomach with kisses.

Castiel stared down at Dean as he worked his way lower, his chest heaving as Dean moved ever closer to the bulge in the sweats. A dark spot was growing at the head, and Castiel felt every shift of fabric against his cock. 

“Too… Too much, oh Dean, it’s too much!” he groaned, and Dean smiled up at him wickedly. 

“Want me to stop, sweetheart? Or want me to put my mouth to better use?”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat and he nodded frantically. His hips jerked upward, seeking friction, and Dean chuckled low in his chest. 

“Which is it, sweetheart? Use your words…” 

“Dean, Dean, put your mouth on me,  _ please!” _

“Gonna make you feel so good…” Dean promised darkly, even as he shimmied lower and nuzzled at Castiel’s hip bone, even as his hands stroked over his thighs. “Fuck, seeing you wearing my clothes? Drivin’ me crazy, Cas. Like you’re all mine, for anyone to see.”

“I  _ am _ yours,” Castiel whispered, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair, mussing it up and grinning down at him. “I see what you mean about the ‘sex-hair’ though.”

* * *

Dean heard Cas’ declaration and stared up at his angel, his heart hammering in his chest. Sure, Cas had said he loved him, talked about their bond. Even hinted that he was in love with Dean, without exactly saying it. But this?

“Say it again, sweetheart?” Dean pleaded, and Cas pushed him upright, his stomach flexing as he sat up as well. He took Dean’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes.

“Dean Winchester, I fell for you, betrayed heaven and armies, friends and foes alike. I fled from your side in Purgatory to keep you safe. I am wholly, unequivocally yours, body, mind, and heart. If I have a soul, it’s yours as well. I love you. I’m in love with you. Nothing will ever change that.”

Dean felt his eyes widen, and tried to brush aside the nervous fluttering in his stomach, like butterflies on steroids.

“Cas, I’m no good at words, man, but you… you’re it for me.”

Cas’ sudden smile was like the sun coming out in the dingy motel room, and the room spun as Cas tackled him over onto the bed, pinning him down and kissing him repeatedly. Dean broke into helpless laughter as he tried to kiss his angel back, but Cas kept moving, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, the tip of his nose — which made Dean scrunch it up when it tickled — down over his ear and to his throat. Finally, Dean grabbed Cas by the hair and dragged him back to meet his lips desperately, Cas gasping against his mouth as Dean manhandled him. 

Dean’s hands slid from Cas’ hair to his shoulders, then down his back to caress their way down his spine. Cas moved into his touch, his back arching and his hips rolling sensuously, and Dean groaned at the way their cocks lined up. Cas moaned against his lips and moved his hips again in a sinful, sinuous dance, and Dean groaned again softly. He slipped his hands down Cas’ unfairly muscled back and over that delectable ass, the one Dean had been thinking about since Cas had flashed him earlier that day. Only a thin layer of cotton separated his hands from Cas’ skin, and he longed desperately to lose the fabric between them. 

Cas kissed him over and over, their tongues twining and curling around each other, and he rocked down against Dean’s rapidly swelling cock. Dean moaned and pulled him closer, his fingers squeezing the curve of Cas’ ass playfully.

“Dean, Dean,” Cas breathed against his lips, shuddering and trembling, and Dean felt wetness seeping through the thin cotton his boxer-briefs. Cas froze against him, breathing deeply. “Not yet…”

Dean ran his hands soothingly down Cas’ back and kissed his temple. 

“What’re you waiting for, sweetheart?” Dean asked, and Cas pulled back to stare down at him, wild-eyed and desperate, his cheeks flushed.

“I want to feel you, too.” 

Dean let out a low growl and slid his hands under the grey sweats, shoving them down to Cas’ thighs as he captured his lips in a deep, frantic kiss. Cas pulled him upright, stripped off his t-shirt and flung it away, then moved back to pull down Dean’s boxer-briefs, the front stained already with precome.

Dean reached a hand between them and grasped Cas’ cock, the touch of him near scalding against his skin. He was leaking profusely, and Dean slicked his hand down Cas’ shaft, spreading precome and easing the way. His own cock jumped against his stomach, and Cas watched avidly for a moment, then his huge hand engulfed the head gently, rubbing in a slow circle and drawing more precome from him. Dean watched, enraptured, as the former angel eyed his palm curiously and laved his tongue over it, licking away the clear drops and soaking his hand further. A moment later he gasped at the feel of that hand wrapped around his cock again, this time sliding down slowly before returning to the tip and rolling over the head. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, that feels good. C’mere,” Dean coaxed, pulling Cas down to lay nestled between his legs, his thick thighs spreading them even wider than their usual bow. “Move with me.” 

Cas reached for him and Dean responded instinctively, lacing their fingers together and letting Cas set the pace as they rocked together. Dean hooked one leg behind Cas’ knee and pulled him closer, wriggling around until with the next thrust sparks flashed behind his eyes. Cas’ cock was dripping, and with a wet slide his glans nudged up under Dean’s, hitting that sweet spot just under the head that made his breath come faster and his heart race. 

“Oh, fuck, Cas, feels so good, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Dean, I’m c-close,” Cas stuttered, his hand clenching around Dean’s as he continued to stroke Dean’s cock, his rhythm faltering as his hips began to jerk on their own.

“That’s it, baby, c’mon, come for me,” Dean breathed against his hair, and Cas tensed, a great shudder wracking his body as he cried out, hot spurts of come landing on Dean’s stomach and chest.

Cas collapsed over him for a moment and Dean stroked him through the aftershocks even as he trembled on the edge, then felt it recede. He kissed Cas’ sweaty hair and over his forehead, then as Cas finally lifted his head to stare at him in rapturous awe, he kissed him again. Cas responded enthusiastically, meeting his lips passionately. He slipped to one side and propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at Dean.

“Tell me what you need,” Cas rumbled, his voice half an octave lower than usual, and Dean whimpered as desire flooded him again.

“Use your hand, sweetheart,” he murmured, and groaned as Cas wrapped a huge, warm palm around him again. 

Cas squirmed lower on the bed and started moving his wrist slowly, jacking him almost gently until Dean wrapped his own hand around Cas’ and squeezed just so, guiding him in the rhythm and tightness that would push him over the edge. As wave after wave of bliss swept over him, Dean’s head fell back on the pillow and his eyes slid shut. A moment later he cried out in shock as a tentative lick swept over the head of his cock, and he stared down at Cas with his pulse thundering as Cas’ pink, soft lips wrapped around the end of his cock and  _ sucked. _

* * *

Castiel hummed in pleasure as Dean’s hands tangled again in his hair, and as Dean tugged gently, Castiel followed easily, up and down, his hand bumping into his lips as he instinctively swirled his tongue around the tip of Dean’s cock. As Dean groaned his name, Castiel pulled up to look up his lover’s body, his chest striped white with his own release, and felt a deep satisfaction. The scar on Dean’s shoulder was long gone but there were other ways he could mark him as his, and he would, in every way Dean would let him. 

With that thought spurring him on, he wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock again and sank down, over and over until Dean was panting and writhing underneath him. He kept one hand stroking Dean’s cock below his lips and used the other to fondle his balls gently, tugging on them lightly when Dean urged him to. Salty precome spilled over his tongue and he sucked it down greedily, laving his tongue over the spongy head and flicking it under the glans, searching out the sensitive spots that made Dean quake above him, until finally Dean was tugging on his hair hard, pulling him away, and his cock jumped in his grasp. Stream after stream of come emptied from Dean’s cock and Castiel couldn’t resist, bending to capture the last spurt with his tongue, licking his lips and swallowing the bitter-salt flavour greedily.

“Fuck, Cas, where did you learn how to do that?” Dean moaned, one arm thrown over his eyes as his chest heaved. Castiel crawled up the bed and kissed his way from his collarbone to his throat, and before Dean could say another word, scraped his teeth over his pulse. Dean trembled and tilted his head back, and Castiel took that as an invitation, latching on and sucking a dark mark on his lover’s throat. Dean chuckled softly and pulled him in for a slow kiss. “Marking your territory, sweetheart?”

“First of all, humans have been obsessed with sexual relations for millennia, so there is little I haven’t observed in that time. As for marking my territory—” He ducked his head, feeling shy suddenly.

Dean pulled his head up and kissed him sweetly, and Castiel melted against his lover.

“You can mark me up any time,” Dean offered and Castiel chuckled softly. Dean sat up briefly to strip the sweats all the way off Castiel’s legs, muttering something about  _ those thighs _ that Castiel didn’t quite understand. Using the sweats to wipe away the worst of the mess, he chucked them onto the floor and pulled the blanket back over them.

“Did Sam say they found the witch who summoned the djinn?” Castiel asked after a moment, and Dean grimaced.

“C’mon, man, afterglow, no mentioning my brother!”

“But witches and djinn are fine?” Castiel teased.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Castiel into his arms. “Ganked the witch, bet she’s already having a difficult conversation with Rowena. And the djinn was happy to be released from the spell holding it captive. Seems like your marriage to the queen still has its uses.”

Castiel groaned, dropping his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

“That’s twice over you’ve been married, Cas,” Dean needled him. “We’ll see if third time’s the charm, whaddya say?”

Castiel lifted his head and stared at Dean, whose cheeks were flushed pink with a blush but his eyes were full of love. 

“Did you just…?” Castiel asked, and Dean ducked his head.

“C’mon, Cas, gonna make me say it?”

Castiel grinned, a wicked, joyful glee overcoming him. “Weren’t you the one who said I needed to use my words?”

“Tell you what, you can have my leather jacket if you don’t make me say it,” Dean said, clearly not above bribery. Castiel let a smirk stretch his lips, and he stroked his hand down Dean’s chest while looking up at his face. He bit his lip seductively and teased his fingers over one of Dean’s nipples, hearing the small inhalation as Dean tried to hide a gasp.

“I think you’ll give it to me anyway. You liked the way I looked in it.”

“You were also wearing nothing else, it was a good look on you.” 

Castiel pulled Dean onto his side and kissed him soundly, wrapping a leg around his hips and making out with his lover lazily. Whether Dean asked him today or in a year, they had time. He couldn’t help but tease him though.

“You know that making things official means you have to ask me again in front of witnesses, right?”

“Shaddup.” Castiel grinned against Dean’s lips, about to retort, when Dean spoke again in a soft voice. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Love Destiel? Over 18? Join us on Discord's [ Profound Bond ](https://discord.gg/rUFErcY) server for like-minded chats, friendly people, and inspiration for reading and writing!


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